An American Werewolf on Route Sword
by Fashionably Emaciated
Summary: Very serious men without tolerance for non-human life forms. My second story featuring these two characters.


It would have been a beautiful night to be outside; no clouds, full moon, and a terrific view of the city. There's something magical about a city late at night, long after most people have gone to sleep.

The only problem was the smoke. The residents had been burning their trash, as usual, and a lack of wind made it hang thick like fog. It had to be one of the most oppressively disgusting smells I had ever witnessed. It felt carcinogenic and filthy, smothering and offensive. I guess I was spoiled, having come from a country that has some kind of air-quality regulations.

I had never traveled much outside the United States, but despite that, I felt at home wherever I was. My calling kept me moving from one city to the next anyway, so I was used to blending in, doing my job, and moving on. I felt at ease here, although I was a stranger to this place. Baghdad was as far from home as I had ever been. To Timothy, this was just another vacation spot. He'd worked here so many times, he thought of it as just another place. He always became attached to the countries he'd worked in.

We were both agents for the PRI, the Pathological Research Institute. This was the Institute's fourth name-change in ten years; done to ensure our secrets remained secret. My supervisor said that changing from an "Organization" to an "Institute" in no way changed us, but I had seen the trends. All the oaths of loyalty and secrecy remained, but the crucifixes were no longer worn. We were becoming more professional, to distinguish ourselves from the cults and secret societies that we had once been so close to. The fact that I called him a "supervisor" is another example of this; a few years back, his job title was still "High Priest". I'm not sure how this makes me feel.

So here were were, overlooking Route Sword, waiting for the creature to show itself. Our Iraqi counterparts had given us a detailed analysis of where they suspected the werewolf would be. They had no doubt he would be hunting, because he had very unwisely set a very obvious pattern for himself.

Timothy sat on the trunk of the humvee, cross-legged, sweeping his binoculars back and forth. We were both wearing borrowed Federal Police uniforms, the ones with the blue digital pattern. On our shoulders were the rank insignias of _mulazim_, the local equivalent to a lieutenant. An Iraqi officer was sitting in one of the back seats, looking out at the city with a thermal scope. I sat next to him in the driver seat with the door open, doing the same thing.

"This guy has got to be one of the dumbest werewolves I've ever heard of." Timothy said.

"Why's that?"

"So, they're saying he's an old one, right? If he's survived this long, you'd think he would know we would come for him if he kept doing the same thing."

I smiled. "No, he wouldn't know. He isn't from here. In fact, I'm willing to wager that he came here specifically because he thinks no one will expect him. He probably thinks that the only opposition to... paranormals like him would be from some of the nomads or something. He figures this city won't have our kind here, looking for him."

I looked at my watch. "It's about that time. He should be around any minute." I walked over to the trunk and opened it, just as we heard a howl.

"Shit! Hurry up, I see him!" Tim whispered loudly. I grabbed the LRSR, lugged it over to a good spot and set it down. I heard another howl, and shakily put my earmuffs on. I turned on my night scope.

"Put a laser on him." I said, calming myself. The officer in the truck projected an infrared beam from his scope, directing me to the target. I could see it now; it was massive, and it was stealthily moving from shadow to shadow on the rooftops. It was amazing how it could stay so well-hidden, even with all our technology put to work. This one was truly a master hunter. Timothy was right, however. This thing had really screwed up, thinking we wouldn't come here to kill him.

I breathed in, breathed out, placed the cross-hairs on him, slowly squeezed the trigger. Squeeze, squeeze, break, SLAM! The concussion of the shot made me feel like I'd been kicked in the face. The heavy projectile arced through the air, bringing its payload of custom designed death into the werewolf. I had designed this one with a hollow cavity inside; not only would it force metal fragments inside the creature, but also all the uranium and cyanide I could pack in as well. I'd put in a bit of holy water too, just in case.

"That's a hit!" Tim yelled. The officer leaned out the window and gave me a thumbs-up. "Good." is all he said.

We packed up and hauled ass to the building in our humvee, jumped out, and scrambled over the courtyard wall with our AK's on our backs. The front door was unlocked, so we walked right in, the officer going straight to where the family was sleeping to tell them that we were here on official business. Me and Tim went up the stairs, straight for the roof. We kicked the door open and lunged out, rifles up. The image that greeted us was pathetic.

The shot had hit him in the thigh, and it was devastating. The wound was both deep and wide, and it was hemorrhaging blood. The werewolf was weakly writhing on the ground. He barely had the strength to maintain his wolf form, and it was clear to me that if he changed back he would die.

I lowered my weapon, and told Tim what I needed him to do. He went back down the stairs, leaving us alone.

I stood there, contemplating the bright skyline. A wind had kicked up and blown all the air pollution away, and I could make out a few stars shining in the sky. I sat down on a plastic chair, and the werewolf stared at me with hate in his eyes.

"You should know you aren't the first one to come up with the idea." I said. "Coming to a war-torn country, thinking that anyone you kill will be missed in all the confusion. Thinking we wouldn't find out. The thing is, we caught on back during the first world war. Even when we don't have any of our own people in a country, there are almost always groups like ours that we can contact and befriend. We teach them our techniques and provide information and technology. Kind of a mentoring process."

I looked down at the street, and then back at him. "We have a pretty good idea who you are, old man, and where you're from. We know you used to run with that group up in Washington State." the wolf's eyes widened. For the first time, there was a look of fear on its face. "That's right. We're coming for all of them. The whole lot. We've been short on personnel recently, so we're going to do this one jointly with anyone we can find. But I'll tell you this: any non-human fuck we find there is going to die. Humanity has a bright future, but only with things like you removed. That's just the way it has to be." I didn't feel at all sorry for him.

Tim came back up, lugging a big can of something flammable. He drenched the cowering creature with it, and threw on a lit match. We stood back and watched. It didn't even have the strength to cry out as it was consumed.

"Nice night, isn't it?" Tim said, as the shadows danced around us.


End file.
